


All I Want is Nothing

by MsPeppernose



Series: I set these fires just for you [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Break Up, M/M, Make up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hey.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>As far as openers go, Pete knows it’s pretty lame, but it’s worth a try. He sticks his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, knowing that a watched phone never beeps, and tries to distract himself. </p><p>Soon after, his phone vibrates with a text message and he looks at it cautiously. It's from Frank.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Hey yourself.</i><br/> </p><p>It’s not quite the response that Pete would like, but it’s a start and it’s much more than he’d thought he’d get.<br/> </p><p><span class="u">Or</span>; A first meet up after a break-up, staring my favourite pairing that almost no one ships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want is Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be just makeup sex and then it grew all of these feelings, my god!
> 
> Massive thank you to Jiksa for beta and cheerleading and making this much better than it was! Also thank you to Immoral_Crow for cheerleading, as always. All shortcomings are mine alone.
> 
> I've been shipping these boys hard for the last few weeks and I've no idea why. Title stolen from frnkiero andthe cellabration

_Hey._

As far as openers go, Pete knows it’s pretty lame, but it’s worth a try. He sticks his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, knowing that a watched phone never beeps, and tries to distract himself. He figures that cleaning his apartment might be an actual worthwhile distraction, seeing as that needs to be done anyway. Desperately.

He’s bent over the bathtub, giving it a final rinse, when his ass vibrates with a text message. He snaps off his grubby pink gloves and cautiously looks at his phone. It’s from Frank.

_Hey yourself._

It’s not quite the response that Pete would like, but it’s a start and it’s much more than he’d thought he’d get. 

Determined to keep the dialogue going, Pete texts back _how u been?_ He puts his phone back in his pocket, assuming there’ll be another gap between texts. He’s already pulling back on his gloves when there’s another text. Pete knows without looking this time that it’s from Frank again.

_keeping busy. How bout u?_

_Same_ , Pete replies. He wants to say something more, but if he’s finally gotten Frank texting again then this is not the right time, if there even is one. _What you up to?_

 _Drawing out a huge ass dragon for this guys back tattoo,_ Frank texts.

There’s another text a second later and it’s of a drawing, obviously the one that Frank’s working on. The dragon is amazing, all in black and greyscale with enough detail that it will end up as a really beautiful tattoo piece. The drawing is being held up by Frank’s hand and Pete can’t help but stare at the inked skin he knows so well, the hand that’s so talented and gentle and sexy, the hand that Pete used to hold.

Pete has spent ages in Frank’s place flipping through sketchbooks of ideas, some that have been forever etched on people’s skin, some that will never see the light of day again. Regardless, Pete finds it incredibly interesting, and even before he and Frank had ever been a _thing_ he’d admired Frank’s designs. He sometimes wonders what he would ask Frank to ink on his own skin, what would be a suitable reminder that _Frank was here_ , something he can hold on to until his skin is old and wrinkly, stretched and sagging and skewed. He never managed to make a decision before, and obviously right now he can’t ask.

 _looks awesome. am currently wearing rubber gloves cleaning my bathroom_ , which is completely lame in comparison to drawing badass dragons.

 _sounds v glamourous._

_It is. I look totally sexy in my pink rubber gloves_ , Pete texts, then kicks himself for being so cheesy, especially when Frank takes many, many long minutes to reply.

_I bet you do_

Pete has no idea how to reply to that. It sounds like it could be flirty, but he doesn’t know if it’s meant to be, or if he’s just reading into it because he really wants Frank to flirt with him. They text back and forth for another little while, gaps in time between texts meaning their conversation stretches out until Pete has cleaned up most of his apartment.

Pete wonders, not for the first time, if he should ask Frank to meet for a coffee with him so that they could maybe clear the air over everything that happened between them. Face to face would be far better than a text, right? He also wonders if it’s worth the heartache to try to save a relationship at all that was still in its early stages. 

They don’t have a huge amount in common, Pete knows that, but then but then again, that hadn’t ever really mattered when it came to them. Pete’s always thought that opposites attract, anyway. They’ve always been snarky, cheeky bastards with each other; little remarks and comments that are mostly flirting, and that’s one of the bits of their personalities that’s the same. A perfect fit. 

They had been seeing each other for the best part of two months; informal dates, hanging around one or other of their apartments, fucking incessantly. There was no structured relationship-like rituals like the meeting of siblings, the changing of Facebook statuses, and certainly not The Talk. It was fun, casual, easy; Pete thought they were on the same page about that. Which is why he completely floundered and panicked when Frank sat him down to have a Serious Adult Conversation About Where Their Relationship Was Going.

He didn’t even do it half as dramatically as Pete makes out, but nevertheless Pete panicked hard, put both feet into his mouth and the next thing he knew, Frank was slamming the door to Pete’s apartment on his way out. Pete had hurt him, that much had been abundantly clear, but he hadn’t ever meant to. He’s been trying to pick the phone up ever since, and he’s talked himself out of it so many times.

Pete’s a romantic at heart, and he fucking loves those great big gestures that are so over the top they should be from rom-coms (he sometimes imagines getting proposed to on a park bench in the snow or something equally as beautifully cheesy). Frank is romantic too, but in a much more subtle way. Pete likes to shout it from the roof tops. Frank is more likely to get a tattoo hidden somewhere on his body that signifies the meaning to no one else but himself. 

A great big gesture is absolutely the wrong way to get Frank’s attention. Frank would probably block Pete’s number and Mikey would _definitely_ kick Pete’s ass from here to Chicago. _Easy does it_ might the best way to go.

 _Want to meet up?_ Pete asks, feeling brave and foolish in equal measures. It feels like a huge fucking risk and he makes a face as he sends it, wondering if he’s about to ruin everything and ensure Frank never replies to another text from him again.

There’s an expanse of time before Frank replies, much longer than any before, and Pete’s heart feels heavy. He’s a ball of nerves until the phone beeps again, a soft little electronic _bloop_ that brings him a whole stomach full of butterflies.

 _Sure,_ Frank’s text reads, and then a second text follows that says _Gee has an art show thing tomorrow if you want to go?_

Hmm. That could go either way. Meeting Frank with his friends obviously means more comfort for Frank, and people to kick Pete’s ass if Pete fucks up again. Maybe Frank is only agreeing to meet up to get his stuff back; it’s possible that he wasn’t flirting at all. For Pete it’s still an option even if it’s not the invite he was hoping for (something along the lines of a romantic dinner would be preferable even though that’s not something they ever really did), and he will absolutely make do, seeing as this is a possible chance to make things right. At the very least, he still gets to see Frank.

 _Sure_ Pete replies _Art is awesome. Looking forward to it._

He means he’s looking forward to seeing Frank, of course, and he really hopes that Frank knows that.

There’s more texting, more possible flirting, more of Pete kicking himself when he says something he maybe shouldn’t, and eventually Frank signs off, sighting band practice as the reason. Pete sleeps cuddled round a pillow, excited and nervous for their meeting the next day.

*

The gallery is pretty busy when Pete arrives, people milling around and talking animatedly in the crowded space. He makes an effort to look interested in his surroundings, trying not to look like the only reason he’s there is for Frank. He doesn’t see Frank, though Frank is short and Pete hides a tiny smile at the thought that Frank could be _anywhere_ , if he’s even here. 

He considers suddenly if Frank’s changed his mind about seeing him. Maybe he was just pretending he’d show up and any second Ray and Gerard will jump out and thwack Pete for breaking Frank’s heart. Pete hides another smile at the thought of Ray and Gerard hitting anyone, because that’s very unlikely.

Pete spots Mikey after a couple of minutes, and he knew already that Mikey would be here; Mikey would never miss one of Gerard’s shows. Mikey tips his chin _hello_ and raises his hand to wave but he doesn’t come over. Pete waves back and stays where he is, too.

He and Mikey have been friends a long time, but things have inarguably been different between them since Pete and Frank went their separate ways. They’ve hung out, and Mikey swears he’s not picking sides, he says that he could never choose between his friends, but Pete knows that Mikey and Frank have been friends even longer than Pete has known him, so it’s a no brainer. Pete tried to explain to Mikey what happened once, but the words came out wrong and it seemed to make Mikey’s frown deepen rather than relax so they don’t talk about that now. 

Mikey doesn’t come over to talk to Pete either, but he does turn around and say something into the ear of someone Pete can’t quite see. It’s Frank of course, and their eyes catch for a long second. There’s a beat of hesitation on Frank’s part, where he just stares at Pete, without moving. Pete does the same and finally - finally meaning about three seconds later - Pete breaks it with a little wave.

Frank looks good, not like he dressed up all fancy for the event or anything, but good in the way Pete thinks he always looks; clothes all grungy and wrong-sized, messed up hair, bright eyes, and a tiny, wry smile. Frank’s gaze flickers between Pete’s face and the show’s program in his hands, turning it over and over, and again it’s the opposite to Pete’s reaction, because he just stares at Frank almost without blinking.

“You look really fucking good,” Pete starts with, subtle as a sledgehammer.  
“You too. Thanks for coming,” Frank says. Pete can’t detect much in his voice, but from his stance he cautious and maybe even shy.  
“Thanks for inviting me. I like art.” Pete would facepalm for saying something as dorky as that if he could do it discretely, but Frank is looking at him with a puzzled little quirk in his eyebrow, his eyes wide and dark.  
“Yeah,” Frank says finally, a little smile spreading across his lips. “I like art too. How’ve you been?”

Frank looks adorable, hands in his jeans pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. He looks awkward and maybe even a little nervous but it can’t be anywhere near as bad as Pete feels. Pete can understand why Frank might be feeling cautious about this, he’s gone over and over that day dozens of times and he can understand how Frank could be feeling hurt and angry, even if Pete never really intended to hurt him.

“Good,” Pete says. “Great. Fine.”  
“I’ve been good, great and fine, too,” Frank says, and Pete hopes that’s another hint of a smile on his lips and that he’s not imagining it.  
“Good.” They just stare at each other for a moment. Pete’s not sure what to do because they used to be so close when they were together, and so casual with each other when they were just mutual friends of Mikey, and this feels weird and kind of awful. 

“Great turn out,” Pete says gesturing around the room. It’s lame small talk, but it’s still talking, and Pete wants to do as much of that with Frank as he can to keep the dialogue going. If they can get a little more comfortable then maybe Pete can bring up the subject of fixing things. “Gerard must be really pleased. Want to show me his stuff?”  
“Dude, Gee will kill you if you refer to his art as _stuff_!” Frank warns with a tiny, teasing smile.

Pete grins in reply.

“Come on,” Frank says. “I’ll show you, and I won’t tell him you said that.” He sticks his hand out, and Pete thinks for a second that it’s for him to hold until he remembers that they don’t do that anymore and that it’s just to usher Pete in the direction of the first painting. His stomach lurches when he thinks that the last time he saw Gerard’s art was wandering his studio with Frank, giggling and holding hands like teenagers. 

Gerard’s paintings are always a wonder to see; large comic-book style characters with blocky colours, dangerous expressions, power poses. Pete could get lost in them. He knows there’s a deeper meaning in all of them beyond the surface image, something Pete sometimes misses, but he loves looking at them nonetheless.

Frank’s hand hovers at the small of Pete’s back between one painting and the next, guiding him maybe, and Pete almost holds his breath hoping it’ll land there, but when they get to the next art piece, it’s gone. Frank sticks his hands back in his pockets, looking awkward and adorable. 

Pete stares ahead of them trying to prepare himself, thinking of some nice arty-sounding words he can use for this piece, but he comes up with a blank…because it looks like a fire hydrant, and nothing like the other pieces.

“So, um,” Pete starts.  
“This piece is rad, right?” Frank says. “I think it’s supposed to represent the idea that the world as we know it is going down in flames. Civilisation is turning on itself, burning down. The concept is that all of us need to start putting the fire out.”

Pete’s a little wide-eyed because as much as he sometimes doesn’t understand the deeper meanings of Gerard’s work, he definitely wouldn’t have gotten that. It’s a mind-blowing concept, and he’s about to say as much when he glances sidelong at Frank, who looks like he’s desperately trying not to laugh. “You’re winding me up, aren’t you?”  
“Totally. It’s just a fire hydrant,” he grins. He turns and points his finger at Pete’s chest as he says, “I had you for a second, though.”

Pete takes hold of Frank’s finger and wiggles it playfully. “You did,” he grins. “Nice work, Iero. I’m totally naïve when it comes to art. It’s a great idea though. Pitch it to Gerard and see what he says.”

“He’d probably make something out of melted down, old action figures or something if I did, but I will!” It’s so wonderful to see Frank make a joke, the first one that either of them have tried this evening. Frank’s playfulness is nothing but a dying ember though because it fades back to cautious quiet just a moment later.

It’s then that Pete realises he’s still holding on to Frank’s finger, which is kind of strange. He drops it, slowly, because the other option would be to twist his fingers around so that he could hold Frank’s entire hand and it doesn’t feel like the right time for that. And Mikey will more than a few choice words for Pete if this all goes wrong and blows up at one of Gerard’s shows. Frank’s eyes dart between Pete’s eyes and his hand, and Pete wills him to say something, even to make another joke, but there’s nothing, just all the unsaid words that they both have, hanging like deadweight in the air.

There are a couple more paintings to view, and there’s minimal conversation between them, just the odd thing here and there about the show, the paintings, the free crappy wine. 

Once they’ve done the full circuit of the room, they wind up hovering near the doorway. Gerard is in demand, talking with many people, and of course he would be, he’s the star of the show today. Pete manages to catch his eye long enough to wave and send a thumbs up to show his appreciation. Pete’s sort of glad he doesn’t get to talk to him, especially seeing as he’s with Frank. If Mikey’s mad at Pete, then Gerard must be fuming. Pete at least has Mikey’s friendship to absorb some of the bad feeling, but Gerard doesn’t need to afford Pete the same loyalty. His loyalty is to Frank.

Talking to Frank’s friends might dilute the time Pete has had with Frank so far, change the angle of their conversation, erase some of the sweetness of the little glances that Pete _knows_ they’ve been sharing. And maybe a part of him worries that Frank’s friend’s will show Frank the light and he’ll never want to hang out with an asshole like Pete again. It’s possible.

Pete’s nearing the end of his glass of complimentary wine, and he thinks that this will mean the evening’s over. He won’t be able to think of another excuse to stay longer, he doesn’t want to intrude on Gerard’s successful night by inviting himself along for the after party, not unless Frank invites Pete himself.

There’s still an invisible wall between Pete and Frank even as they hover near the exit. Pete wants to say something, maybe break the tension a little more. It’s like a mental game of Jenga as Pete tries to think of the right thing to say. Not that Frank is usually offended, but Pete fucked up and he wants to make sure he doesn’t repeat it. Their weird, smiling silence is broken by Frank, thankfully he has a better grasp on the English language than Pete does this evening.

“Mikey’s mad at you, you know.” He looks at Pete like he expects Pete to know this already, and of course Pete does. It’s a reminder though, and one Pete can’t ignore. He can concede that that’s not the most verbose sentence, but it’s better than _Um_ which would have been Pete’s next word.  
“I know. As much as he told me he’s not taking sides or whatever, I know he’s mad, but it’s okay. I get it. Does he know what happened?”  
“I’m not even sure I know what happened,” Frank mumbles. Pete hears it though, and his brow furrows as he watches Frank through his lashes. There’s another long moment of silence and it stretches out, filled with unsaid words until Frank speaks again, his face unreadable. 

Pete knows what happened. They’d dated for two months, starting off with a fumbled kiss at a party that got broken up when they were disturbed. It lead to the idea that maybe they should hang out by themselves sometime which Pete had never really considered before even if he always thought Frank was pretty hot.

A sort-of-date turned into two dates which turned into sleeping together and spending copious amounts of time in each other’s apartments.

It was all going so well until Pete’s insecurities, baggage and big mouth ruined things, upset Frank, broke both of their hearts. He knows it could have been avoided if he’d taken time to think rather than running his mouth. He’s had time to think now, of course. Two weeks is far too much time as far as he’s concerned. 

There have been so many signs in Pete’s day to day life for the last few days that all point to Frank. They’re all little things like finding a set of Frank’s drawing pens under his bed where they must have fallen, realizing he’s been wearing Franks Joy Division shirt rather than his own (his one has a hole in the hem and must be in Frank’s apartment), getting an email notification about a tattoo convention that’s coming up next week that he was supposed to go to with Frank. 

It’s all little things, but they add up to make a bigger thing. That bigger thing is the void that Frank left in Pete’s life, in his heart.

Every time he finds something new he replays the conversation in his head again and again. And every time he replays the conversation he feels more and more like he’s been an idiot, a scared idiot who tried to run from his feelings and ended up tripping over his shoelaces on the way.

“Should we talk about this?” Frank asks, and while Pete knows it should have been him to ask it first, he’s so relieved that Frank did it because now that big sheet of ice is broken.

“Can we? I mean, that’s why I texted you in the first place. I wanted. With you. I miss you,” he blurts out. 

Frank looks like he’s going to say something, and Pete crosses his fingers and toes that he’ll say he misses Pete too, but he doesn’t say anything other than, “Should we talk about this somewhere else? In the middle of a crowd is not the best place?”  
“I dunno. You’re not gonna get mad at me are you? Do I need witnesses?” Pete teases, though there’s a tiny part of him that wonders if it’s really a tease or not. It makes Frank laugh, though which is a joy to be seen, and Pete relaxes momentarily.  
“Nope. No need for witnesses unless you really piss me off.” And even if Frank’s tone says he’s joking, Pete knows it’s true. As compact as Frank is, Pete knows he’s a strong little fucker, well able to take Pete in their play wrestling matches, easily able to flip them when Pete pinned Frank to the bed to kiss him hard, hold him down. Pete’s only ever seen his temper flare a little, but he knows it’s there, knows it could match his own.

“My place is closer than yours. Do you want to come over?” Pete asks. Frank looks somewhat surprised that Pete suggested it, so Pete quickly tries to back pedal. “Or there’s a bunch of coffee shops down the block if that’s better?”

“No, your place is fine,” Frank says, and with the barest wave to Mikey and Gerard who are both watching them carefully, Pete leaves the gallery with Frank a foot behind him.

*

Pete’s really glad that he spent yesterday cleaning his apartment, because for the last two weeks he’s been living like a college student away from home for the first time with no idea how to look after himself. It’s easier to try to look after a broken heart if most other basic functions of life are ignored. The apartment had been messy with stacks of dishes and dirty clothes, a biohazard bathroom and bedsheets that could have gotten up and walked to the laundry by themselves. 

Now it looks like a normal, regular apartment that an emotionally mature grown up might live in, which is good, because there’s enough reason for Frank to walk right back out again without adding the smell of dirty socks to it.

They sit on the couch. Pete fidgets quite a lot and insists on making them tea (which is much better than his first plan of making them coffee - not the greatest idea this late in the evening. Pete already knows he probably won’t sleep tonight, no matter how the night goes).

There’s small talk, talk about Frank’s dog, a new line of shirts that Pete is designing for his clothing label, the girl that Mikey swears he’s not dating when they really, really are. They dance around the subject, talking about anything _but_ the elephant in the room. 

There’s silence again and Pete decides it’s now or never, and he opens with, “So.”  
“So,” Frank repeats.  
“I don’t know where to start-“  
“You rejected me. Then you said you didn’t mean it. Then I stopped answering your calls because it was pissing me off to hear you not know what you want. So, you wanted me. You didn’t want me. You wanted me again. Should we start there?”

It pains Pete to hear Frank so say it so plainly, but then if Pete looks at it objectively, removes his self-pity and his ability to over analyse everything, then that must be how it feels for Frank. 

“I never wanted to not be with you. It just felt fast.”  
“We’d been dating for months,” Frank says. He sounds half way pissed off but like he’s trying to keep his calm, and Pete’s grateful even if he’s fucking this up like he fucked up their last conversation.

“I know, but.”  
“But what? You made it pretty clear.”

Pete’s gone over that conversation so many times in his head trying to figure out the exact second it all went wrong and he knows it all by heart now. 

They were both getting over messy break-ups when they got together, and Pete felt he wasn’t ready for anything serious just yet. He ignored the swoops in his stomach that he knew were more than just attraction, he ignored the goofy smiles he made at his phone whenever Frank text him something stupid or inane, he ignored the way Frank Iero got under his skin and filled every crevice with ooey-gooey, fluffy feelings. Pete swore he wouldn’t have such strong feelings for someone so early again, not after the last time, not after the time before that. Ignoring those things was all he had. 

Frank obviously wasn’t ignoring his own feelings, which was why he broached the subject first.

“Okay,” Pete says, rubbing his forehead. “This is going to sound so fucking stupid, and like the worst cliché ever, but hear me out. Please? If ever there was a case of ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ this is it.”

Frank visibly tenses, giving him a _look_ , and Pete know how idiotic he sounds. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, Pete.” His tone is fed up, and Pete feels like he’s fucking this up just like he did their last conversation. “Look,” Frank continues, rubbing his temples and looking like he might be ready to bolt. “I kinda had a feeling tonight might be a mistake, now you’re confirming it-“  
“Please, Frank! I’m not explaining myself very well, am I? I’m not good at this. Let me try to explain again? _Please?_ ”

Frank blinks at him, and Pete knows the answer.

“Okay,” Pete starts again. “We were seeing each other, and things were going great, right?” Frank nods slowly. He’s listening, for now, so Pete tries to choose his words carefully so that he doesn’t piss all over what’s left of Frank’s patience. Of course things were going great, Pete knows that’s why Frank bought up the concept of _boyfriends_ and actually putting a label on the relationship. It was a logical step to take, but Pete froze, panicked, freaked out, ruined everything. “And I stupidly thought that if I didn’t label us as anything, if we were sort of in limbo, I could protect myself a little bit more. Like, if you got sick of me and you weren’t my boyfriend but just some guy I was seeing it would hurt less when you did. I liked you far more than I expected to. You wanted to put a label on what we were-“  
“And you shut me down quicksmart,” He says resolutely. His brow is furrowed and all Pete wants is to kiss those furrows away  
“I panicked. I didn’t want to end it. I just. I panicked”

“So I asked you to move the relationship up a level and you just freaked out? That’s all? You weren’t actually breaking up with me? Because it fucking felt like it.”  
“Pretty much,” Pete says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”  
“I asked if you’re my boyfriend and you said no. Do you know what that feels like? Sounded pretty straightforward to me.”  
“I know it sounded bad. But that’s not what I meant to happen. I’m usually the one to jump in with both feet, fall in love real quick, give my heart away. That got exhausting and kept ending badly, I swore I’d try to not fall in love so early-” Pete cuts himself off, knowing he’s both rambling and giving away too much of himself.

Frank scans his face like he’s looking for something. Maybe Pete’s babbling and mention of the fact that he’s been falling in love with Frank has worked out for the best after all. “If I was to ask the same question now?” Frank asks carefully.

Pete watches Frank right back, his brown eyes, the curve of his lip. They’re both still trying to figure this whole thing out.

“Honestly?” Which is a silly thing to ask, because of course Pete has to be honest now. ”I think we were fucking boyfriends or whatever already. I know I freaked at the label, but really we were at the next stage before you ever asked.” Pete pauses. That next stage of a relationship requires honestly and baring one’s soul sometimes, so he takes a breath and pours his heart out. “I’ve been hurt before. A lot. And I’m scared of getting a hurt again. Not enough to not date, but I’m still cautious. I wanted to be with you. I _still_ want to be with you.”

Frank looks like he’s thinking and Pete tries so hard to read his face. It’s blank, completely blank, and then slowly the corner of his mouth twitches. Pete thinks it’s a good sign. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Frank says eventually, though his tone is soft, fond. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”  
“You didn’t really give me a chance,” Pete protests, though really Pete is not sure if he could have said it eloquently without some time to think it over. He knows it would have come out as needy and pathetic at the time. _Please don’t hurt me._

Frank looks a little sheepish. “I thought you were being an asshole.” The sheepishness only lasts for a second and the hurt look is back on Frank’s face as he scowls down at this lap, avoiding Pete’s eyes. “I’ve been hurt too, maybe not quite like you, but I’ve been hurt. I rushed into things, and assumed that I was on the same page as someone when I wasn’t. They kept me hanging on without ever wanting to take our relationship seriously and I waited far too long to find that out. So I felt like I’d been there before when you did that, when you rejected me. I panicked too and shut down. I think it was self-defence.”

 _Shit!_ No wonder Frank wouldn’t speak to Pete, no wonder Mikey’s mad. Pete’s chest feels tight at the thought of Frank being hurt by someone else. Pete’s been feeling genuinely awful over hurting Frank by accident, hurting because he fucked up. The thought that someone hurt Frank because they were so uncaring about his feelings makes Pete clench his fists into balls.

“I wasn’t trying to do that,” Pete pleads. “I didn’t want to hurt you or keep you waiting for me to make up my mind about you. Really, I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that. I just.” He thinks about the conversation that day again. “But I guess I did that. I’m sorry.” 

Frank looks a little bit less like thunder, less like he’s in pain, and less like he might walk right out of Pete’s apartment. He’s still sitting with his hands in his lap, and he’s still sitting with a defensive posture, but he shifts a little and if Pete’s not mistaken he’s now facing towards Pete a fraction more. 

“I’m still fucking mad at you,” Frank says.  
“I know,” Pete says. He’d gone through a day or two after the break up where he was really mad at Frank too, though he was mad because Frank didn’t hear him out properly. Frank always has this _I don’t give a shit_ attitude, he’s an easy going guy even if he has a temper at times. But as much as all of that is true, Frank is also more sensitive than he’d admit, and Pete knows he takes things just as personally as Pete does sometimes. “It’s justified. I was mad at you too, but just because I couldn’t explain myself to you properly. I’m sorry, Frankie.”  
“I know you are.”

“Can you give me another chance?”  
“I’m thinking about it.” Pete’s stomach flutters with hope, but he stops himself from smiling, from taking that as a _yes_ no matter how much he wants to. “Why did you decide to call me up? Why now?”  
“I missed you,” Pete confesses. “I thought maybe two weeks was enough time to pass between us so that I could try again and maybe explain myself better, too. Mostly I just missed you, though.”

There’s silence between them again, and Pete’s afraid to break it. There’s some cautious glances shared, and Pete watches Frank fidget with the frayed hole in his jeans.

“So this would have all been made easier if we’d just communicated? Like, actually talked to each other?” Frank asks.  
“I think so.”  
“If we do this again we’d have to talk to each other properly then.”  
“We would,” Pete says carefully, hoping that means what he thinks it means.  
“Okay then,” Franks says and gives him the largest smile he’s given all night.  
“Okay? You mean-?”  
“I’m not sure what I mean yet.”

“I kinda want to kiss you,” Pete admits, really hoping that that’s the direction that they’re heading.  
“Only kinda? I wanted to kiss you since I saw you at the gallery.”  
Pete laughs, his body relaxing for the first time since he saw Frank this evening. “Okay, I really want to kiss you. Can I?”

Frank smiles, gorgeous and bright, and Pete’s missed that smile so fucking much. 

The kiss is amazing, both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. 

Frank’s always an amazing kisser as far as Pete is concerned; from their first fumbled kiss in the dark in Mikey’s house, right up until their last kiss - the kiss that Pete had no idea would be their last - on the day that Pete’s inability to articulate himself sent them in different directions. 

But this kiss feels even better than all the ones that have come before. Franks mouth is all soft, warm gorgeousness. Pete cups his hand to Franks jaw as they kiss, slow and careful, his fingers splayed on Frank’s cheek. 

It’s just lips at first, soft and mostly closed, gentle kisses, until Frank moves a little closer parting his lips. Pete resists the urge to push forward with his tongue, wanting to take his time. They kiss with parted mouths then, still keeping is slow, though Frank threads his fingers up into Pete’s hair which changes the angle of their mouths, pulls them closer together, and it’s then that Frank sneaks the tip of his tongue in to touch against Pete’s. Pete huffs a little laugh into the kiss at the touch, at how good it feels, how good Frank tastes. 

Pete’s hand rests on Frank’s knee and he feels the soft bare skin where Frank’s jeans are ripped up so artfully. He slides his palm upwards, feeling the heat of the flesh underneath, but when he gets to the top, to where Frank’s leg would turn into hip or crotch, Frank’s stops him.

“Go slow?”  
“How slow?” Pete asks.  
“Just kissing?”  
“Really?” It’s so odd for Frank to ask that, usually he’s the pushy one, hands down Pete’s pants as soon as the bedroom door is closed, whispering filth in Pete’s ear in public. Not like Pete is some shrinking violet, or anything close, but Frank can be a horny little brat and it sometimes leaves Pete scrambling to catch up. The want to take it slow is a new one, and it reminds Pete that Frank must have really felt hurt by what happened. 

Frank nods. And sure, not a problem. If they’ve gone from Frank being mad, to Frank sticking his tongue down Pete’s throat, just kissing is totally fine. 

Their just kissing continues, and it does remain just simple kissing (mostly). Pete keeps his word, and he keeps his hands to himself bar threading his fingers into Frank’s dark hair, stroking his face, holding him close. Frank doesn’t let his hands stray far either, keeping one clutching tight in the front of Pete’s shirt, the other trailing up and down Pete’s chest and arm. Though as much as it’s just kissing (even if the pace has quickened and now there are teeth involved now too) and gentle touching, Pete knows from Frank’s breathing pattern that he’s hard and Pete is _definitely_ hard.

It’s almost a relief when Frank pulls back a little, like maybe Pete’s hard-on won’t bust entirely though his jeans now.

“Do you want to -- I mean. If we still take it slow-ish, but maybe more kissing with less clothes?”  
“How much less?” Pete asks. Though regardless, he’s in, even if it just means taking off his socks.  
“Down to underwear?” Yeah, Pete’s is so fucking down for that he shivers at the thought.

They're practically horizontal on the couch now, Frank leaning all the way over Pete - and Pete then _knows_ just how hard Frank is - their chests pressed close, so Pete suggests maybe they lie down on his bed, still while taking it slow with only kissing. Of course.

Inside his bedroom, Pete giggles at the layers and layers of clothing that Frank’s wearing, that he always wears. When he peels off the cardigan which is over a flannel, which is over a t-shirt, he teases, “So many clothes. You make me work for it.”

“I do. I’ll help, though.” He pulls the last layer over his head and Pete gets his hands on Frank’s waist, his hips, then remembers he’s still wearing too many clothes himself. 

Their jeans are left in a heap on the floor and then Frank lies down, Pete crawling after him. 

It’s some sort of weird mix of teenage horniness and flat out caution as they lie together, carefully kissing. Pete makes sure to keep his hips angled away. Even if his dick is hard enough that his erection could probably be seen from space, if Frank wants just a make-out session, then rubbing against him, accidentally or not, is bad form.

Frank's skin is gorgeous, translucent-pale under all the dark ink, even paler against Pete’s own golden tones. Pete trails his fingertips over Frank’s sleeves, the religious iconography he can almost draw from memory now.

Pete drags the back of his nails softly down Frank’s back, over the bumps of his spine and down to the waistband of his underwear. He’d love to go further, squeeze Frank’s ass, grab at his thighs. If they’ve actually made up then everything else will come in time, and Pete can wait, but he _wants_.

“I’m gonna end up humping your leg,” Frank says after what feels like hours of molten, slow kissing. His voice is low and rumbling, his eyes heavy with lust.  
Pete smiles and catches Frank in another slow kiss. “You’re pretty much humping my leg already.” Which is true. Pete’s thigh is firmly between both of Frank’s, and Frank’s hard-on presses against Pete on every little rocking motion. 

“Yeah, but I mean humping your leg _more_. Like, until I come in my pants.”

Pete groans at the thought. Even though Pete has been keeping it as a prominent thought that he’s going to be jerking off alone in the bathroom after their make out session, or dying from blue-ball-itis because he’s fine with going slow if Frank wants to, the thought of Frank coming all over himself is a really fucking nice one. Not that making out in their underwear and wrapped together so close feels anything like taking it slowly, but Pete taking his cues from Frank, letting him set the pace.

“Do you want to do that?” And Pete’s voice is far shakier than it was earlier.  
“No,” Frank says. “I want to not take it slow anymore.” He trails his hand down Pete’s bare back and then slides it into Pete’s boxer-briefs.

Pete groans again and pushes Frank onto his back so that he can pull at the waistband of his underwear. “Want to fuck me?” he murmurs. 

Frank swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Pete wants to lick his throat, so he does. He gets Frank’s underwear off and then Frank’s wearing nothing but all that gorgeous, stupidly hot ink. “Yeah, I wanna fuck you, Pete.” 

There’s naked kissing, because of course there is. Pete has been given a green light so he touches Frank the way he’s been thinking about doing all night, grabbing Frank’s ass, pinching his nipples. Frank’s still holding back though, which is very unlike him.

“You’re usually a lot pushier in bed, Iero.”  
“I’m trying to go easy on you. Break you back in gently.”  
“I don’t need gentle,” Pete manages. “I need -- I want. Come on.” He arches his hips against Frank, feels Frank’s dick hot and hard.  
“Alright then. You’re so needy. I love it.”

Pete shamelessly arches and moans and writhes while Frank fingers him open. He moans again when Frank rolls him onto his stomach and smooths his hands all up Pete’s back and down over his ass again.

Pete spreads his legs and pulls one knee towards his chest to give Frank ample access. Frank hovers over Pete, his hard dick pressing against Pete’s back, his lips right up close to Pete ear. “You ready to take it?”  
“Yeah,” Pete groans.  
“Tell me then.”  
“Fuck. I want it. Come on, Frank! Fuck me, I want it.”

He hears Frank fumbling with the condom, and hums as he feels Frank move into position, teasing at his entrance. The hum turns into a deep groan when Frank pushes inside him. It’s slowly at first and Pete feels the burn and the stretch, and he’s missed this, missed being filled up with Frank. When Frank moves, he’s not especially careful, but then again Pete likes it that way, and Frank obviously remembers.

Frank’s grip is just the right side of too tight, he pushes into Pete just on the edge of too hard, but it’s perfect. When he kisses the back of Pete’s neck, it’s with teeth too, his nails dig into Pete’s skin hard enough that Pete knows they will leave those little half-moon indentations.

Pete idly wonders, as he’s being fucked so deliciously, if he remembered to close his curtains, or if maybe the nosy neighbour from across the street is home. If she is, then Pete wonders - as Frank bites into Pete’s shoulder, makes him cry out into his pillow - if she saw them undress, if she watched them make out naked, if she can see Frank pounding his ass. Some days he might actually care, but today he’s too far gone to even turn his head to check. Part of him even quite likes the idea of shocking her with their exhibitionism, maybe even turning her on. 

It’s an idle thought though, one completely wrapped up and covered in the feeling of Frank’s skin on his, which feels better than anything else he can think of.

Frank’s thrusts slow down, and before Pete can protest or even question why, Frank pulls out entirely, pulling Pete up and back so that they’re both on their knees, Pete’s back to Frank’s chest. Frank kisses Pete’s nape, drags his teeth on the skin at the base of Pete’s skull. 

Pete moans softly and tilts his head back so that Frank can kiss the vein on the side of neck, his pulse. Franks tattooed hands roam over Pete’s chest, ribs, stomach and then one hand curls around his cock.

Frank’s voice is low and raspy in his ear. “You won’t do that again will you, Pete? You hurt me.”

Frank strokes Pete’s slowly, nowhere near enough to get him off, but it feels so good that Pete sobs into the air. 

“I won’t.”  
“You need to know what you want.”  
“I do.”  
“Tell me then.”  
“I want you, Frank. _Fuck_. I want-“ He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, he’s just losing himself in the feeling of Frank’s hand on his dick, Frank’s skin on his back, Frank’s mouth biting and licking his neck.  
“Because I don’t think I could go through that again. I want you, Pete. If you let me, I’ll give you everything, but don’t do that to me again.”  
“I won’t, I won’t. Frank, please!”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for when he says it, but when Frank pushes him forwards onto his hands and knees again and slides back inside him he knows that’s exactly what he wants.

Pete needs to come, he’s so fucking close. He goes to touch himself, but Frank gets there first and Pete can see the smirk on Frank’s face without ever looking around. He’d forgotten how unbelievably hot is it to see Frank’s inked fingers wrap around his cock, and again, Frank’s not careful. He’s fast and hard and tight, his other hand in Pete’s hair, and Pete crumbles so quickly, groaning loudly and pressing his face into the pillow as he comes hard, so hard.

Frank ruts away behind him for another minute or so and Pete lies there taking it, feeling every thrust, feeling Frank’s skin slick against his, and Pete thinks Frank might be close. But Frank pulls out, paws at Pete’s hip to get him to roll over, and Pete complies so that he’s lying in his own wet spot.

“Wanna come on you,” Frank says.  
“Yeah. Yeah, come on me. Come on.”

Frank’s thighs hug Pete’s hips as he settles himself. He whips of the condom, quickly wrapping his hand around his dick and going hell for leather. It won’t take long for Frank to get off now, Pete knows.

Pete watches Frank’s body move, the ink on the chest and bicep distorting, his lip caught between his teeth, his hand picking up speed, blurring as he jerks himself off fast and hard. He keens and whimpers, breathes sharply and keeps his eyes shut, lost in pleasure, and Pete strokes his thighs, his balls, his hips. He watches and takes in every details of how fucking beautiful Frank looks, storing it up in his spank bank for a rainy day.

Frank comes with his head thrown back, lips parted and shiny, and Pete knows for sure he’s in love with Frank Iero.

They settle down afterwards, and Pete kisses Frank sweetly and wipes the sweat from his brow. He stares at him trying to think of the best words to say so that he can get it right this time. 

“I mean it, Frank. I won’t do that again,” Pete says. “Freak out, I mean. I won’t do it to you. I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t mean to the first time.” Even if the way Frank asked was incredibly hot, Pete means every word and he doesn’t want Frank to think it was just in the throes of passion, like he only said it so that Frank would make him come.

“Just fucking talk to me, Pete. Don’t freak out and I won’t either.” Pete can see the sincerity in his eyes and he kicks himself a little that the last few weeks could have been avoided if they’d just been a bit more careful with each other, communicated. “I mean it too, though. I don’t think I can go through that again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Frank’s cuddly even with Gerard and Mikey, and so is Pete - Patrick could write a ten thousand word dissertation on the matter - so together they’re practically glued to each other. It takes them a minute or two to find the most comfortable shape to lie in, both wiggling and fidgeting.

“I know, Pete. I believe you. Move over a bit?”  
“But then I’m in the wet spot.”  
“Your wet spot,” Frank snickers.  
“Well, I didn’t cause it all by myself. Why do you need me to move over anyway? How do you need more room? You’re like four foot tall and _tiny_ ,” Pete says and just about manages to dodge Frank’s elbow.  
“Like you’re a fucking seven foot tall wrestler or something?” Frank scoffs, and Pete’s heart swells up. He can’t get the grin off his face because this is a familiar little back and forth they used to do. 

Pete wiggles again, and he’s just on the edge of the wet patch on the sheet but not lying in it. If he falls asleep where he is he will no doubt end up rolling into it, though.

“So,” Pete says tentatively. “Are we boyfriends, then?” Despite the talk, despite the fucking, despite his previous freak out, maybe now is the time to put some sort of structure on their relationship, maybe Pete’s the one that needs it today. The two weeks without any Frank at all has made him realise that.

“Dude, what’s with the labels? We’re only just back together. C’mon, man.” But Frank is teasing, Pete knows that. Pete tucks his face into Frank’s neck, cuddling close with his arm protectively over Frank’s chest. He inhales the smell of skin and sweat from Frank’s neck and lets himself relax, even if it’s just for a minute, even if they’ll have to move to clean up very soon.

Pete grins. “So we're back together, then?” That’s enough for him.  
“Yeah.”


End file.
